


Safe Spaces

by TheIneffableLily



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Gen, Gyms, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Joe is really nice, M/M, Nicky's ex is really terrible, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29270319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIneffableLily/pseuds/TheIneffableLily
Summary: He is going to kill me.The thought came to Nicky with a fierce certainty that startled him and suddenly he understood what his horrified mind had been screaming at him since he’d left that morning: he couldn’t go back home. There was no turning back, no begging for forgiveness, no soothing the situation, no promises that would appease him. Not after this.TW: ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Original Character(s)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 331





	Safe Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to the people in discord who helped me with some geography and a lot of encouragement. I decided to take a little break from smut and write something sad. I hope you find this as cathartic as I did.
> 
> LOTS OF WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE!
> 
> **TW: implied past abuse  
>  TW: terrible ex-boyfriend  
> TW: manipulation, gaslighting, stalking  
> TW: implied kidnapping and torture  
> TW: implied violence  
> TW: implied terrible/homophobic parents  
> TW: implied sexual assault (but only briefly)**
> 
> There's no actual physical violence, but some people might find the character of the ex-boyfriend disturbing, so proceed with caution. And as always, feedback is welcomed.

_He is going to kill me_.

The thought came to Nicky with a fierce certainty that startled him and suddenly he understood what his horrified mind had been screaming at him since he’d left that morning: he couldn’t go back home. There was no turning back, no begging for forgiveness, no soothing the situation, no promises that would appease him. Not after this.

 _He is going to kill me_.

Nicky took a deep breath. If he panicked now, he wouldn’t find a way out of it. He had to think. He had to keep a leveled head. He had to-

The public restroom door opened with a creak. He heard the bustling sound of dozens of people running up and down Victoria Coach Station to catch their buses, but then the door closed and all that was left was the squeak of Christopher’s shoes on the linoleum and the worn-out wheels of the suitcase creaking as they were dragged along.

“Nicky?” he called out, his voice sweet and betraying none of his anger. “Babe? You dropped your bag. Honestly, you’re so clumsy sometimes.”

He chuckled like he found the whole thing truly amusing.

“Where would you be without me, babe? Really.”

He was pushing the stalls open now.

One…

Two…

Three…

And then Christopher was standing in front of him, 200 pounds of muscle and anger separated only by a thin door and a breakable latch that could be taken apart with just a push.

“Why did you run, babe? I’m here to take you home.”

Nicky gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to hurt him in public. He never did. He was too clever for that.

“Chris, I’m not going home.”

Christopher shifted his weight from one foot to another the way he always did when he was trying to control himself, but his voice was still soft when he said, “Babe, this isn’t the time nor the place to have this conversation. Let’s go home and we can talk about it then.”

Nicky could barely hear the sound of his own voice over the hammering of his heart, but he hoped the words were clear when he repeated, “I’m not going home with you, Chris. Please, leave me alone.”

They must have been clear enough because Chris went quiet and Nicky had been living with him long enough to recognize the danger in that pause. It was the worst kind of silence. The one Chris took when he was evaluating just how much damage he could inflict without raising suspicion. A harsh squeeze on his hand, a word of warning, a promise to talk about it when they got home that would get Nicky on his knees and begging for forgiveness the moment the door closed.

With practiced ease, he threw his pride aside and pleaded for what he hoped would be the last time, “Please, Christopher. We’re not happy. _You’re_ not happy-”

“That’s not true.”

Nicky gulped and counted five breaths before he continued.

“I make you angry all the time,” he tried. “It’s… it’s me, babe. You don’t want to be with me. You deserve better. You deserve someone who doesn’t make you so unhappy.”

 _This is a public place_ , he repeated in his head while Christopher mulled over his words in another dangerous stretch of silence that seemed endless. _He’s not going to hit you in a public place. He has never hit you in front of witnesses and he’s not going to start now. And if he does, everyone will see it._

_And if he does, you can scream. Maybe it’ll help this time._

Chris sighed heavily and said, “Was it 67 Graham Road?”

Nicky felt his stomach drop. Suddenly, that calming mantra meant nothing.

“Is that where you were going? I can wait for you there if you’re more comfortable with it. Would that help?”

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit shit shit-_

“Nicky?” He could see Chris’ shoes, as large as his hands, coming dangerously close to his little safe corner. It made him want to retrieve further, to merge with the wall behind him, and disappear. “I asked a question. Will you please answer?”

“You knew what I was doing,” he said, but the accusation only made him feel like an idiot. Of course he did. He should’ve been more careful. Seven months of planning, all of the preparation that went into it and Chris had been one step ahead of him the whole time.

Chris didn’t bother denying it. “Well, you’ve been acting like a crazy person lately. I knew you were going to do something stupid. I’m just glad I didn’t have to go all the way to Italy this time. If you want to yell at me, you can do that once we’re home.”

Nicky could have laughed. He had only raised his voice at Chris once and immediately learned not to do it again. He didn’t think he’d spoken in anything above a whisper in five years.

“Nicky, listen-”

The bathroom door opened and someone else made their way to a different stall. Chris didn’t say a word. Nicky stood in place, analyzing every angle and quickly realizing there wasn’t much he could do. Screaming for help wouldn’t help. It never did. Leaving with Chris and trying to lose him in the crowd wouldn’t work either. There wasn’t much of a crowd to speak of at 10 am on a Tuesday. And trying to appeal to his sensible side had never worked.

His expectations were bleak: even if he could run away, he had nowhere to stay now that Chris had his new address. And the money was in his suitcase. Which was now in Chris’ hand.

_Don’t give in. Don’t go with him. He is going to kill you the moment you get home._

It was funny how that was almost preferable. If Chris didn’t kill him, then Nicky didn’t think he’d ever be allowed to leave their house again. He was given a taste of it last year and he’d rather not go through that again.

Chris waited. The stranger on the other stall was relieving himself, which bought him maybe a minute or so until they were alone again. Chris wouldn’t dare do something stupid with a witness so close.

Once the bathroom door opened and closed again, Nicky said, “Alright.”

“Alright?” Chris asked and Nicky could tell he was smiling. He could also tell he was leaning even closer to the door.

He had one chance.

With all of his strength - which wasn’t much, but it was enough - he hoisted himself up and kicked the stall door with both his feet. The latch gave in immediately. Nicky doubted the light wood would do much damage, but it must have hit Chris just right because he howled in pain and fell on his ass.

Nicky didn’t stick around to assess the damage. He dashed to the restroom door and as far away from Chris as he could. It didn’t matter where he was going, just as long as it wasn’t anywhere near him.

The station wasn’t busy enough for him to get lost in the crowd, but it was busy enough to make the chase more difficult for Chris. Somewhere behind him, above the heads of the travelers, Nicky heard his voice demanding, “Nick! Get back here!” He wasn’t trying to mask the anger anymore. Nicky wondered if someone would call the police, or if they’d just mistake them for two guys solving their differences the way angry men usually did. And even if they did call the police, what of it? It had never helped in the past and it wouldn’t help now just because he was in a different city.

_It doesn’t matter, just go!_

Nicky dashed out into the street and turned right. He’d only been to London once, eleven years ago, and he had no idea where he was going, but he felt that he could run the length of the city if it meant he’d get away from Christopher.

But his angry voice was shouting after him.

“I said get back here!”

He didn’t dare look back. He didn’t stop at the zebra cross, fuck the traffic. Being under the wheels of a bus would hurt less than whatever Chris had in mind for him.

To his left, someone honked and yelled and someone else’s bumper missed his legs by only a few inches.

“For fuck’s sake! Get back here!”

Not now.

He couldn’t turn back now.

More honking and shouting and then-

_Fuck!_

Then he ran into someone and had to stop in his tracks.

“Whoa! Easy!”

That was it. That was the end. Chris was going to reach him and drag him back and lock him in the-

He was holding a door open.

The stranger was _holding a door open_.

Without thinking twice, Nicky turned and got inside. It was a little reception area with a glass door to the rest of the building that rattled and refused to open when he pulled.

“Hey! What do you think you’re-”

There was a front desk. That would have to do. He jumped over it and stumbled to the other side before hiding underneath the solid wood.

“Uh, mate?” the man said and Nicky could tell he had a puzzled look on his face. He was going to whisper something (”I need help. Please, help me.”) but then the man said, “What the fuck is this?” and Nicky was sure he was going to get kicked out.

Then Chris' angry voice snarled, “Shut up!”

Nicky tucked his feet closer to his body and covered his mouth with both hands so that Chris wouldn’t hear him breathing.

_Don’t give me away, please don’t give me away._

On the other side of the desk, he could hear the heavy steps as Chris paced the small reception area. He was furious. If he didn’t tear the building down brick by brick, Nicky would count himself lucky.

“Listen-” the man tried again. He was probably the receptionist.

Chris snapped at him to “Shut _the fuck_ up!”, so he did. Smart choice. He heard a metallic click.

Chris demanded, “Let me in.”

The receptionist simply said, “No.”

Nicky was pretty sure his heart stopped beating for a moment.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

_Don’t do it._

_For god’s sake, you’re only making it worse._

Chris huffed in that angry way that sent a cold chill down his spine every time. Had this been anyone other than a stranger, he wouldn’t be showing nearly as much restraint.

He snapped, “I don’t have time for this!”

Nicky heard the thud of Chris' large hands on the desk as he leaned over. Before his head got too far, the receptionist said, “You’re bleeding-”

“So?”

Steps came closer. Slow steps. The receptionist reappeared, claiming his place behind the desk. Nicky shook his head vehemently and hoped the tears in his eyes would be enough to move him to compassion, but the man just took a box of tissues from one of the drawers and offered it to Chris. He didn’t even glance at Nicky.

“Here.”

After another pause, he heard the scrape of soft paper being pulled out of the box. To Nicky, the man raised a finger underneath the desk in what was the universal sign for “not a sound”. Nicky was happy to comply.

In a much more leveled voice that sounded almost contrived, Chris grunted, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I’m… being an asshole.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Chris inhaled like he wanted to start screaming, but he exhaled heavily through his nose instead.

“It’s been a difficult morning.”

“I can tell.”

“I-” he cleared his throat. “Let me start over. I’m Christopher.”

“Joe.”

They shook hands briefly. Joe said, “Strong grip.”

Chris always put too much strength into the gesture, something Nicky found unbelievably petty, but the remark elicited a pleased humph from his boyfriend.

“Do you need help, Christopher? I can call the police if you-”

“No, it’s fine. This is nothing. It’s- it’s just so stupid. My brother did this,” he explained.

“Shit, no wonder you want to get the bastard. I’d do the same.”

Chris let out a short laugh, but said, “He didn’t mean to. He’s usually really nice. He just gets, you know… _confused_ when he’s off his meds.”

Nicky looked up. Joe didn’t look at him.

“What’s he on?”

Chris sighed. “I don’t know. They keep changing the dose because he refuses to take them. We were going to visit our mum, but then he flipped and- well, this is the result. I could have sworn I saw him come in.”

“I’ve been here since 7 am and as you can see,” he took a step back to open the office door that was right behind the desk. “He’s not here.”

A pause. A quiet one. More pensive than charged.

“Yeah. But maybe he got past you.”

“That door doesn’t open unless I press the button. Maybe you saw Andy? Here-”

Joe shuffled to the side, standing in front of Nicky’s curled up form. He rapped his knuckles on the glass door. A moment later, the door clicked open and a woman’s voice asked, “What?”

“Might it have been Andy?”

“I guess. I don’t know.”

Nicky felt his heart racing and tried not to be too hopeful, but Chris sounded _unsure_.

“Well, better safe than sorry. Andy, can you give Chris here a tour of the gym? He’s looking for his brother.”

“I didn’t see anyone.”

“Let him look regardless. And be _very_ thorough. Like the one you gave Nile’s boyfriend.”

“Ah. Like the one I gave to Nile’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah. His brother is off his meds and unstable. But don’t worry, I’m sure Chris here can protect you if you run into him.”

“Lucky me,” she said, and Nicky could have sworn he heard a note of irony in his voice.

“You can leave your suitcase with me if you want,” Joe said. “I’ll keep it safe.”

Nicky’s heart was still hammering madly inside his chest, but the moment the suitcase made its way over the desk he felt it begin to slow down. The gym door opened and closed once more and before Nicky had the chance to speak, Joe interrupted him, eyes still on the glass door - on Chris.

“What is he, boyfriend? Husband?”

Nicky forced the word “boyfriend” out.

“Do I call the police?”

“They won’t help.”

He waited for Joe to try and convince him. He didn’t.

“Right. Get in my office. I’ll let you know when he leaves. You can’t keep the suitcase, but if you have anything valuable, you gotta take it now, okay? Make sure he can’t tell.”

“I-” Nicky started, though he wasn’t sure where he was going with it.

Joe cut in, “Now. We can talk once he’s gone.”

Nicky didn’t need a lot of time. He’d stored his passport, birth certificate, and the bank card in a ziplock bag in the front pocket. Chris didn’t know it was there and he wouldn’t notice it gone if he made sure to put the zippers in the same position.

“What about your meds?” Joe asked.

“I’m not on anything,” Nicky said. “He’s a liar.”

“I thought so.”

Joe urged him through the door behind him and Nicky crawled through on hands and knees, his head low. It wasn’t very dignified, but it was far from being the most humiliated he’d been in the last ten years. Joe only glanced at him quickly from the door.

“I’ll get rid of him. Don’t make a sound.”

He closed the office door and Nicky realized too late that there were no windows and no source of light inside the room, leaving him in absolute darkness.

——

There was a slither of sun coming from under the door that fell dull on the cement floor. From the corner in which Nicky was hiding, he could see the edge of the carpet and the feet of a desk, but not much else. There was a filing cabinet next to him and the cold metal was reassuring for a while, but soon it warmed up to his skin and only made him feel oppressed. Inside his chest, his heart had picked up some speed again and he didn’t dare take his hands away from his mouth.

 _I won’t be here long_ , he told himself, knowing fully well that he didn’t know whether that was true or not. Chris had told him repeatedly he’d let him out “soon”, but “soon” had stretched for hours, which turned into days, which turned into weeks, which-

Which turned into the slither of light under the basement door becoming his only hope. Much like now.

The dark wasn’t the worst part, though. It wasn’t the sound of his own breathing caught in the palms of his hands. It wasn’t even the panic attack fighting its way out of his chest. The worst part was not knowing whether this torture was pointless at all.

_He probably saw me. He probably knows I’m here._

The truth was that Chris liked to toy with him. Playing games was more effective than a fist. Chris had watched him plan his escape for seven months without saying a word. He hadn’t even been in a bad mood lately. Looking back, however, Nicky could tell he was just enjoying making him squirm. All of those times his get-away bag had been moved just an inch… those times when Chris came home an hour earlier while Nicky was on the phone with the lady from the shelter… he’d even rescheduled his shift so he could “spend a day with him” the day Nicky was supposed to run away.

All of it to make him sweat because hurting him was not just a way of reminding Nicky he had no control over his life anymore. Sometime in the last five years, it had become _fun_. That was why he was currently hiding in the dark, no bag, no shelter, nowhere to go. And he couldn’t stop thinking about the basement.

The lights were flicked on and Nicky startled, his breath caught in his throat. If living with Chris hadn’t made him really good at keeping quiet, he might have screamed. His eyes took a moment to adjust and he thought Chris had found him - but then he blinked and realized it was the nice receptionist. Similar frame, maybe a little leaner on the shoulders and a gentler look in his eyes.

The man said, “He’s gone.”

Nicky let go of the breath he’d been holding and tried to get to his feet, but he was shaking so badly he couldn’t stand, so stayed on his knees.

“Easy there, take your time,” he said, kneeling beside him and closing the door.

“Thank you,” Nicky said. “Thank you. I thought he was going to-”

He couldn’t stop shaking. The words barely found a way out of his mouth.

The receptionist extended something to him. A bottle of water. He opened it and handed it over. After Nicky was done gulping down half of it, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Nicolò. Nicky.”

“I’m Joe. Do you have anyone we can call, Nicky? Friends? Family?”

“I’m alone,” he said, though the full weight of those words only hit him then. “I was heading to a shelter, but he has the address so… I don’t think I can go there anymore.” He took a deep breath and before Joe could suggest it again, he added, “He’s a policeman.”

Joe cringed. “Shit.”

“He’s probably telling them I’m dangerous. Or a criminal. They won’t take me now.” He drained the rest of the water and held the empty plastic bottle in his hands. The shaking had subsided but he still didn’t think he could get up.

Joe was looking at him. “You’re not English.”

Nicky shook his head.

“Where are you from?”

“Italia.”

“Are you trying to get back to Italy?”

Nicky chewed on his tongue for a while, eyes on the empty bottle. His nervous fingers were pressing indents into the plastic, making a crackling sound that was probably annoying - he’d better stop doing that.

“That’s not far enough,” he said, more to himself than to the other man. He sighed. “I’m fucked, ain’t I?”

He hadn’t cursed in months and even now he expected the roof to collapse on top of him for daring to say something so crass. Chris wouldn’t have stood for such language.

Joe asked, “Can I trust you?”

Nicky glanced up. Joe was looking at him.

“Sorry?”

“Are you going to steal anything?”

Nicky blinked confused eyes at him. “No.”

“Are you going to cause any trouble for me or the people in my gym?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he said. He ran a hand through his curly hair. “Okay. You can stay while we work. Take a nap on the couch, collect your thoughts. We’ll help you figure things out after we close. Does that sound like a plan to you?”

Nicky stared at him at a loss for words.

“Of course, if you want to go, we can call you a taxi,” he added.

“I won't cause any trouble. I promise.”

“Good. There’s a bathroom in the gym if you want to use it.”

He got to his feet. Nicky tried to do the same.

Joe made a movement like he wanted to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he thought better of it.

“Get some rest,” he said. “We’ll figure things out later.”

——

The tiny couch in Joe’s office was not at all designed for naps, let alone long stretches of sleep, so Nicky woke up eight hours later with a sore neck. He moved his head from one shoulder to the other, making something crack unpleasantly. Still, that was the longest, most relaxing sleep he’d had in years.

He looked around the room - the weak ceiling light, the old desk with a laptop on, the filing cabinet that had given him cover a few hours ago - and, for the first time in seven months, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. For better or worse, his escape plan had ultimately worked and Chris was currently chasing his own tail all over London trying to find him.

He knew he had to move, but Nicky decided to take a moment longer. Suddenly, the lack of windows was comforting now that the lights were on. It made the office feel like a little fortress, something impenetrable, designed to keep him safe. If his bladder wasn’t full, he’d have stayed there until Joe got tired and kicked him out.

He got up and gingerly opened the office door. A woman with short hair was at the desk. Beyond the front windows, night had fallen outside and his bare arms felt a little chill now.

She turned to look at him.

“Hey.”

Nicky recognized her voice. Andy, the one who’d given Chris a long and pointless tour of the gym.

He nodded slightly. “Hi.”

“You feeling better?”

She looked at him with some pity in her eyes. He didn’t resent her for it, though he was still ashamed. He supposed he did look rather pitiful - a grown man hiding in someone else’s office because he didn’t know how to stand up for himself.

He said, “I just want to use the bathroom.”

She pressed the buzzer to let him into the gym. “End of the room. You’ll see the signs.” When he walked past her, she said, “Listen-”

Nicky got ready to say he wasn’t going to cause any trouble, but all she said was, “He’s not gonna get past me, okay? Don’t worry.”

He wanted to smile or express his gratitude, but the words were stuck somewhere in his throat and he thought they’d only leave if he started to cry, and he wasn’t about to do that now. He might never stop. He just nodded again and tried to force the corner of his mouth up. She didn’t seem to mind it.

The sound of fighting gave him pause once he crossed the door. All around him, men and women were violently taking their anger out on punching bags. In a boxing ring in the center of the room, two men in their twenties were dancing around each other, gloved hands up to their faces. Occasionally, one would strike, causing the other one to laugh and curse. In the back, right next to the bathroom sign, a black woman with braided hair cried out every time she hit her sparring partner’s strike pads.

It was overwhelming and Nicky tried not to think about the sound of fists hitting something solid. He kept his eyes on the sign - and just above it, through large glass windows that overlooked the rest of the gym, he could see Joe, leading a group of women in some sort of routine on the second floor. Once he was done, he should go upstairs and thank him properly.

Nicky splashed cold water on his face and enjoyed the quiet of the bathroom a little longer. In the mirror, his eyes had bags underneath them and his hair was a mess. And he was skinny. When had he lost all that weight? His cheeks were sunken and his wrists looked so frail they could be easily snapped. Stubble was already growing on his chin and he wished he could shave just to feel more like himself. Or, at least, like the version of himself he’d grown used to.

And he was aching everywhere, but somehow that barely registered. The aching was the way he was now. It was just as much a part of him as breathing. Or hiding. Or pleading.

_Who the hell is going to hire you? Who’s gonna rent you an apartment when you look like you crawled out of a sewer? And what would you even wear to a job interview?_

His clothes were gone. His good shoes were gone. The bible he’d had with him since his teens was gone. All that was left of his possessions were a couple of documents currently in his pocket and a card to a secret bank account. _Presumably_ secret. Chris had probably cleared his bank account. It didn’t matter that was _his_ parents’ money.

 _Well, they never loved you anyway. Remember how quickly you_ begged _Chris to come and save you when you moved back home?_

It didn’t matter. He could deal with that later. Even if he didn’t have a cent to his name, even if Chris had cleared every last penny of his inheritance, he’d rather live under a bridge than go back to Chris' home.

_You always say that, but then things get tough and you call him back. You always do._

Once.

He’d done that once. And only because his parents were a relatively worse option.

_You’ll call him._

_You’ll go crawling back to him._

_You always do._

“No, not this time,” Nicky said to his reflection in the mirror. It didn’t sound as sure as it had that morning when he was hurrying out of the house, bag in tow and looking over his shoulder every five minutes. But it would have to do for now. “Not this time. This time I mean it.”

Nicky dried his face roughly with a paper towel and headed upstairs to thank the man who had saved him. The group of women was lining out of the room and down the metal staircase, their light steps making the metal resonate.

Joe spotted him at the door and motioned him into the room. He was sitting on the padded floor, stretching to touch his toes. In the morning, Nicky hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but he assumed he’d looked more put-together. A day of working out had put some red on his face and covered him in sweat.

Chris would hate him if he knew Nicky was anywhere near him.

Joe breathed out. “Sorry. My legs are killing me.”

Nicky didn’t know what to say to that.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m…” Nicky searched his brain for words. He was exhausted and he wanted a bed. A proper bed. But that was not the other man’s problem, so he said. “Better. I think.”

“That’s good.”

“Thank you. For letting me stay. And getting rid of him.”

Joe shrugged. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s not the first time. You’d be surprised how many angry boyfriends think it’s a good idea to wait outside for their girlfriends.”

Again, Nicky couldn’t find the words. It didn’t feel like nothing to him. In fact, Joe and Andy might have saved his life. But it was hard to get the words out.

“Are you closing?” he asked.

“In another couple of hours. You can stay until then.”

Nicky fought the urge to ask to spend the night. He’d gladly pay for that uncomfortable couch. He’d take the space under the front desk if it meant he had a place to stay.

As if he was reading his mind, Joe said, “Where did you say you were going earlier?”

And he tapped the padded floor. Nicky must have developed some sort of Pavlovian response to the gesture because he dropped to the floor immediately. Maybe a little too fast because that made Joe frown.

“I was- A shelter,” Nicky said. “But he’s got the address.”

“Right.”

“I think I- I’ll have to go to another city. Maybe. I don’t know.” Nicky rubbed his eyes. “It’s not your problem, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I just wanted to say thank you before I left.”

“You know, London is pretty big,” Joe said, ignoring what he’d just said. “I’m sure he won’t find you. And there are other shelters. Some can even help you find a job.”

Nicky chuckled without joy. He said, “Do you guys need a new punching bag?”

It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t even funny. He expected Joe to stammer something awkward or chuckle out of sympathy. Instead, he let the left corner of his mouth quirk into a sad little smile, his gentle eyes surveying his face like he expected something to crack.

And so it did.

——

It shouldn’t be that way. Chris, with his angry hands and his booming voice, had chased him down god knew how many blocks then cornered him under a desk, and then into a dark little office. But a stranger with kind eyes was the thing that finally got him to sob into his hands like a lost child.

“I’m so sorry,” he forced out. It sounded more like a wail than actual words.

Joe’s soft voice said, “It’s okay. You had a rough day.”

Nicky was glad to be sitting again, or else his legs would have given in and he’d fallen apart even further.

“Ten years,” he rasped, heels dug into his eyes so deep it hurt. “Ten years and he _hates me_. Why can’t he just let me go? Why does he _do this_?”

The number sounded immense in his lips, but it didn’t comprehend nearly enough time. The last decade had gone on forever, measured in aches and shouting and terrible benchmarks he’d tallied up over the years.

_The first time he yelled at me._

_The last time I raised my voice._

_The first time he slapped me._

_The last time I burned dinner._

_The first time he kicked me._

_The last time I went near his work._

_The first time I ran._

_The last time I saw my mother._

_The first time I came back._

_The last time dad told me I wasn’t his son._

_The first time he didn’t stop when I asked._

_The last time I told him not to touch me._

_The first time I told him I loved him and I didn’t mean it._

_The last time I smiled and I meant it._

_The first-_

_The last-_

It kept going. It was fucking endless.

Joe was speaking.

Nicky dried his tears and rubbed the disgusting snot that was dripping from his nose and dared to ask, “What?”

“I said it’s a long time. I’d be upset too.”

Upset didn’t begin to cover it. Nicky felt like a perfect idiot, always telling himself that things would get better, that soon they’d go back to what they’d been during the first year of their relationship. That it couldn’t possibly get worse.

But it did. It always did.

_The first time I called the police._

_The last time I called the police._

_The first time he locked me in the basement._

_The last time I cried for help._

_The first time I tried to force the door open._

_The last time I was allowed out of the basement that year._

Out loud, Nicky said, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s such a long time.” He took a deep breath. It was more tears than air. “Why does he need to have me? He’s not happy. He can’t be happy.”

“That’s just how some people are,” Joe said. It wasn’t much of an explanation. “We don’t… cause them to be like that. They just are and we get caught in the middle. I guess. I don’t know.”

Nicky didn’t know if he believed him. Chris wasn’t like that with anybody. He was a decorated officer. A respected man with many friends. Nicky had never met them, but he’d seen their pictures. Chris was always smiling then. He looked so handsome in his uniform.

He never smiled at home anymore. Not really. He wished he could tell Joe that, make him understand something Nicky himself barely grasped. But before he could even attempt to put it to words, the door opened.

“Hey, Joe- oh. Sorry. You’re… having a moment?”

Nicky swallowed the lump in his throat, glad for the interruption. Otherwise, he might never stop crying.

Joe said, “It’s fine, Book.” To Nicky’s surprise, he saw him rub the tears off his eyes, too. “What do you need?”

“I’m finished with Nile, so I’m heading home unless you need me.”

“No, we’re good.”

“Okay. You two carry on… whatever you’re doing.”

“Cool. Yeah.”

Nicky took a deep breath and tried to get himself under control. He had to get going, too. Find a hotel. Or a flight. Or a bus. He didn’t know. He’d figure it out.

Joe shot to his feet.

“Wait. Booker?” he called out, running to the door and pulling it open. Somewhere from the metal staircase, the other man said, “Yeah?”

Joe asked, “Do you still need a roommate?”

——

“It does feel nice.”

“What does?”

“Actually helping someone.”

Joe humphed in response. It wasn’t agreement, but it was the closest he could get to it.

“What I’m saying,” Andy said, “is that you’re allowed to be proud of yourself. You did a good thing.”

He said, “I know” but he had his arms crossed tightly to his chest. He was still looking through the window even though the taxi that took Booker and Nicky away had left already.

“That shook you.”

“Of course that shook me. You didn’t see how deranged that guy looked.”

“You should have let me kick his ass,” Andy said. “I came very close to it when he said we were using the wrong type of punching bag.” She snorted. “I guess he likes the ones that scream.”

Joe shuddered and Andy immediately changed her tone.

“Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s fine.”

He came back to the front desk, hands on the back of his head. There was a tension on his shoulders that refused to give and the evening classes had pulled a muscle in the back of his thigh that was currently throbbing. He knew he was kicking too hard, but he couldn’t help it. He was angry.

He was _very_ angry.

“Fuck,” he exhaled.

“Indeed.”

“It’s been a really long day.”

Andy opened her mouth but waited for Joe to tell her, “Just say it.”

“You’re projecting.”

“Damn right I’m projecting. Did you expect me not to?”

She shook her head. “No. No, I was having flashbacks myself. Lost puppy comes into mum’s gym-”

“Fuck you. I’m not a puppy.”

“Woof woof.”

He pushed her shoulder, but now he was smiling a little.

“If he comes back, I’ll kick his ass,” Andy said. “He’ll think twice before putting his hands on anyone.”

“If he comes back, you lock the doors and call the police,” Joe said, firmly. “He’s a policeman, apparently. You don’t mess around with crazy people with access to guns.”

“ _You_ don’t mess around with crazy people with-”

“Andy.”

“I’m joking. Relax.”

Joe didn’t think he’d relax anytime soon. Andy must have seen that in his eyes because she said, “You should call your therapist.”

Joe rubbed his eyes. He was tired.

“Yeah… yeah, I’ll do that in the morning.”

“And I’ll let the neighbors know there’s an angry boyfriend loose. With any luck, we won’t ever have to see the bastard again.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Yeah, never again.”

He wasn’t so sure about that, but one could only hope.


End file.
